


the student always learns

by yearofmeteors



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yearofmeteors/pseuds/yearofmeteors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things didn't change much. They just got a bit more irradiated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 50/50

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some nipple piercing play. But then it turned into a sort of kink/identity focused character study. Enjoy some submissive Roadhog and dominant Junkrat.

There is some sense to the world, the way it is now, that makes everyone believe they were different before. They look at each other and wonder how the junker and bounty hunter and the sex worker lived, how they worked as accountants and baristas and students. They want for the nooks and crannies of a human to change as everything else has, so guilt can’t seep into the rawness that lingers, that stays the same. But the accountant still holds dominion over figures, the barista has hobbies that become livelihoods, the student always learns.

Mako had these tattoos long before radiation made their color turn.

He had killed people long before he became an enforcer, before the Australian Liberation Front, before everyone had been displaced. You don’t survive the fallout learning on the job. You come into it already knowing how to survive.

Mako didn’t have the luxury of rawness and tender parts that guilt could poison. Born poor. Born Maori. Then puberty hit. Unavoidably fat. Unavoidably gay. Angry and reckless. Tattoos and piercings. A beating that destroyed his face. No job fit for him but hard labor, violence.

He began to make his way slowly across the continent at an early age, the bear on his bike, whispers of his arrival traveling quickly. He was known in the gay bars, in the leather circles, the bdsm clubs. A huge, perfect specimen of butch. The rare places he could be seen as good. No shirt, just a leather vest. A bike that any boy would love to ride on the back of. Black lacquered nails on hands that could heal with illicit touches instead of hurt. Even that turned bad. He killed his first man behind a gay bar on the bad side of town. Bastard beating the shit out of a kid. Something too familiar in the kid’s face for the bastard to be handled any other way. He tried to keep it honorable but found that it was no use. No money came from honor. The second kill he got paid for.

He got an education. A reputation. He tried to live off the fear and the greed alone, keep the actual violence to a rare yet well-timed occurrence, and settled in the Outback amongst the solar farmers, the survivalists, the ostracized. He cleaned up what he could. Three dead in the back alley. A steady friend with benefits who owned the local bar. Kept the peace by making noise. It felt good. Felt comfortable. Blood on his hands that paid the bills and kept people as safe as they could be.

Junkertown wasn’t any different than the life he lived before, and anyone who claimed otherwise was selling a story. And a cliche one at that.

He’d been called Roadhog for a long time.

\------

In the scheme of things Junkers were just plain boring. They took one look at him and assumed top, assumed dominant, assumed idiot. Brave, stupid fuckers slid onto his lap and batted their eyelashes and hoped to get into his good graces with a shitty handjob and a string of ‘sir’ and ‘daddy’. Some thought they’d be able to take his dick, thought he’d want to break them, tear them in two. Some wanted to die like that. Most just wanted to get a buck, steal something while he was passed out from fucking them. Everyone seemed to think they were hot shit with nothing to lose.

This new job was no different. Idiot junker with a passion for bombs and knack for getting himself into trouble.

So why was this little rat so hard to catch?

\--------

Two weeks of near misses and layers of ash coating his skin and Roadhog was no closer to grabbing the fucker than he had been when he had started out.

The boy was smart. Blindingly lucky. He became a source of wonder, almost always in the sight of Roadhog’s facemask, the goggles serving more than one function, binoculars and protection, keeping the rat in his view. He watched Junkrat sketch out plans, tinker with useless junk until it became terrifying constructions of gunpowder and precise denotation, listened to him talk to himself and heard half-crazed brilliance leak through the rush of words, crackling fire through Roadhog’s earpiece. He was reckless in the way his bombs were. Perfect placement and timing and then all hell broke loose, exactly how it was supposed to.

He watched Junkrat patiently stalk mutated rabbits, his hands his only tool. Watched him carefully inspect and care for his prosthetics. Watched him find someone so much like Roadhog to fill his bed. Watched him come back from a good lay hungrier than he had been before.

He would follow Junkrat into outposts, see the way the world scorned him. Saw how they winced at his voice and insulted his excuse for swagger. He heard the whispers, the plans to screw over a foolish target. Roadhog kept to the edges and watched frustration and resignation flicker dangerously before igniting in a ruthless crash of destruction. He saw Junkrat lick his wounds, heard the strings of angry words, the retelling of past trauma as Junkrat hid for the night. He would wake up a jester, laughing off the hurt, dancing in the searing sun. Radiation sickness was an excuse for Junkrat to play the part everyone wanted him to play: lunatic twink hellbent on destruction.

No doubt Junkrat loved it. But god, sometimes you needed a break from the expectations of your all consuming self. The familiarity of that particular struggle crawled into Roadhog’s mask and made his scars itch.

The burn of it would end up with him watching Junkrat take himself in hand, back arching in a show for no one. He watched a slender body shake on the verge of release, heard loud moans, recognized a sly smile, realized the show wasn’t without its audience after all.

Junkrat bit his lip and grinned, satisfied.  _ You’re welcome  _ ghosting into Roadhog’s earpiece.  _ Tune in tomorrow night fer ‘n encore. _ Roadhog half expected to wake up blown to bits in the morning but Junkrat kept moving as if he hadn’t just called Roadhog’s bluff.

\------

Junkrat was risking another stop at an outpost. Roadhog could practically feel the hunger was back, the desperation. Junkrat went barrelling into the bar, all eyes on him. He was a scrawny thing, all 6 and a half feet of blonde twink and at least three junkers zeroed in on him. Roadhog couldn’t blame them. But where they saw a cute thing to have squealing for them, he saw a man that needed that for himself for once in his life. The realization was swift, settling raw and uncomfortable in his stomach. He was wasting time.

Roadhog didn’t care to hide anymore. He sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and waited. 

“Was wonderin’ when ya’d grace us with yer pretty face. Well not yer actual face but . . .” Junkrat giggled. Roadhog grunted in response which earned him a sweet laugh. “Rumbly guy ain’t ya. You followin’ me fer the same reason? Wanna piece of that info I got in my brain? ‘Cause if it were fer my ass I’d think ya’d’ve came onto me sooner.”

Roadhog rolled his eyes more for his benefit than for Junkrat’s. “Maybe both then? Wanna fuck and tear my brain out to give to yer employer?”

“You’re smarter than that,” Roadhog said.

‘Who says I ain’t? At least give me a good time before ya take me.” Junkrat cackled. “Two birds one stone right?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s the stuff sweetheart. Keep goin’. Like it when ya talk mean.” Junkrat purred, hand slipping to tug on one of Roadhog’s nipple rings. The words and gesture did something entirely different to Roadhog than either probably expected. Instead of goading him into a violent reaction, _ sweetheart  _ settled at the base of his skull, the heady feeling yanked to his cock with the sharp pleasure of Junkrat’s fingers on silver metal. He bit back a whimper, bit back an affirmative, submission tingling at the edges of his mind. He’d been watching the rat too long, he was getting too comfortable. 

God, it had been a long time. And Junkrat was begging to be shown something different than he thought he’d have to settle for. Shit, maybe the radiation was taking a toll on his mind as well.

“You got a better deal for me than that?” Roadhog asked. Oh he was definitely spoiling from the fallout like bad milk.

“Aren’t you special? Everyone usually wants to bag and tag me. Whatcha thinkin’? Take a cut? Partners in crime? 50/50?” Roadhog grunted, surprised. “Yer pretty handy with yer hook there and I’ve been lookin fer some better transportation, not to mention a bodyguard.”

He thought briefly of taking more time to consider the offer, but Junkrat was still playing with Roadhog’s nipple ring like he wasn’t giving death a blowjob, all big eyes and a sly smile. Roadhog would probably agree to anything with talented fingers like that tugging on his nipple. Not to mention a mouth like that. He could feel the kid’s potential sparking along his fingertips, all risk and recklessness and if he died in an explosion two minutes later it wouldn’t matter. 

“Deal.” Roadhog uncurled his hand from his drink and shook Junkrat’s free hand, trying not to arch as Junkrat ran his thumb over his nipple like a blessing

“And if ya wanna good lay outta the deal just ask.”

“You’ve got things to learn,” Roadhog said, taking Junkrat’s wrist in hand and regretfully pulling him off his chest. He threw his payment on the bar before manhandling Junkrat off his stool. Things were already unraveling, gossip already sprinting across the Outback. The rat had a bodyguard. The stakes had just skyrocketed.


	2. Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terms are sort of negotiated.

The first time he went under, he was twenty-two waking up in the bed of a gutsy twink who had picked him up the night before.  The apartment was too high class for someone like Mako and it made him feel uncomfortably like a plaything for someone slumming it for fun. The twink was named something like Alex or James, forgettably bland, but infinitely sweet and unabashedly conniving. He had straddled Mako, leaning down over him in the late morning and asked  _ how adventurous are you? _ AlexOrJames was a self-proclaimed versatile switch demon from hell and he tasted like it when he kissed Mako hard and deep, a lazy brush of tongue before he drew away, his mouth hovering over too-fresh scars and saying  _ you carry yourself like a dom all day long sweetheart, always taking care of yourself, always on edge. Why not take a break and let someone else be in charge for once? _

_ Sweetheart _ made Mako cringe, made shame color his face, made him achingly hard, made him crumble. Soon more words and soft touches that seemed earnest and condescending all at once flooded him, pulled him under, made him come. And then come again. He drifted and wondered at himself from outside of himself. He came back slowly in the arms of someone so much smaller than him and still he wondered. It wasn’t safety or trust. Not yet. But it  _ was _ truth..

And here was someone so similar but so unlike AlexOrJames. Someone sharper and meaner and more enthusiastic. Someone reckless and brilliantly foolish who played at pinning Roadhog to the ground as soon as relative safety found them both that first day. Junkrat took one of his silver rings into his mouth, fingers curling around the other, bringing Roadhog to the edge quicker than he had managed in years. He felt Junkrat’s cock rub against his stomach, felt him tug his shorts down so he could rut with skin against skin. A fast fuck borne out of weeks of watching each other rub off alone in the desert, borne out of a tension having grown from fear of death and fear of opportunity. A tension quickly released as Junkrat came all over his stomach, Roadhog’s hand on his ass pushing him hard against him. A boot ground against Roadhog’s erection and it had him growling behind his mask, two sharp spots of pleasure connecting with a third and he was coming in his dungarees, shameful and bright with the ease and manner of his orgasm. The embarrassment of coming too fast and from nothing but the dusty sole of some Junker’s boot had him twitching, still half hard from the curl of humiliation and the faint, rasping voice muttering  _ so good, so good, knew you’d be good. _

\---------

“What’s tha terms?” Junkrat asked, still perched on Roadhog’s stomach, cleaning off his come with his flesh hand. He asked the question between caressing his fingers with his tongue, not a care in the world. Roadhog grunted, felt himself stirring again in his ruined shorts.

“What? Ya want my come all over ya for the rest of the day?” Junkrat asked, and the implication had Roadhog uncomfortably hard.

“What do you mean  _ terms? _ ” Roadhog asked, trying to shake off that particular train of thought, the sensation of  _ claiming. _

“Of me bein’ yer boss?”

“Boss?” Roadhog swallowed down a moan. This boy was going to kill him.

“Yah, yer my bodyguard ain’t ya? My driver, my uh sh- show-fer.”

“I’m not your chauffeur.”

“Alright, alright Hoggy. My bodyguard then. 50/50 of the take in return fer yer undyin’ protection. And yer, well,” Junkrat descended into obnoxious giggles, “yer punishin’ cock.”

Roadhog rolled his eyes hidden behind his mask. “No.”

“No?” Junkrat fell off of Roadhog’s stomach in surprise, a puff of dirt clouding around him as his back hit the ground. “You just bring me out here fer a quick rut before ya killed me?”

“No.” Roadhog hated to say it, to ask for it, how asking for it made him hot under the facemask, how circular it was, humiliation feeding in on itself and making him ache just from simple conversation.

“Well then wha’tha fuck is it?” Junkrat propped himself up on his elbows, kicking Roahog’s leg lightly with his foot to emphasize his confusion.

“You’ve got this backwards.” Saying just that much felt like sewing up a wound with nothing but radioactive moonshine to ease the pain.

“You wanna be the boss? That’s what I said Hoggy. Yer my boss in the sack and I’m yer boss everywhere else.”

“Ok. You don’t have it completely backwards.” He bit his lip, trying to think through the burn of  _ I’m yer boss everywhere else. _

“You wanna be boss all the time?” Junkrat asked, obviously put out at the idea, eyes flicking this way and that, looking for a way to kill Roadhog if things went south. Roadhog was starting to feel that being blasted to pieces would be a lot more comfortable than teasing this out any longer.

“I want you to be the boss. Always.”

“You,” Junkrat had to pause as he began to do something like giggling and yelping all at once, “You want me to be the boss all the time?” He gripped his cock through his shorts for a moment in excitement.

“Yes.” Roadhog said, watching Junkrat spring up to standing.

“Yer a peculiar kinda Junker, aren’t ya? I ain’t never had someone want  _ me  _ to get them on their knees before.” Junkrat came up to him with a curious look on his face, touching Roadhog’s mask gently. “What’s the terms then Hoggy?”

Roadhog grunted. “Take it slow.”

“Of fuckin’ course I’m takin’ it slow. I ain’t know what you’re even into. I been bossed around all my life, I think I know what not to fuckin’ do here.” Junkrat huffed, taking a step back and folding his arms. Roadhog ignored the display and kept detailing his basic terms.

“When we fuck I want to be submissive. But when we’re doing a job, you’re only my boss because you’re paying me. I’m your employee, not your slave.”

“I ain’t no idiot Hoggy. I know a big boy like you won’t stand for no bossin’ around durin’ the daylight.” Junkrat tossed his head, affronted and let the silence drag as he lost himself in thought. 

Junkrat was twitchy in both personality and body and the mania was as much intoxicating as it was irritating. Tremors unattached to emotion shot through Junkrat ever so often, radiation having ravaged his nervous system as much as everything else. They rocked his lanky frame but never reached his fingers, his patchy blonde hair taking most of the motion as it shook comically. The ends were perpetually singed in a way that seemed more purposeful than clumsy, as if he was aiming for an aesthetic rather than setting himself on fire by mistake. He never did things by mistake. Junkrat was all practiced chaos and there was nothing Roadhog wanted more than to be wrapped up in it, lost in it, knowing that he was under the hand of someone who commanded fire so easily he laughed with it.

“I ain’t got a clue what I’m supposed to be doing with ya. Never done anything but been held down and fucked before, not that I’m opposed to doing the holding, just not familiar.”

“We’ve got a lot of time to kill.”

Junkrat jumped in the air with a little holler, “Ain’t I the luckiest, my big ol hunk of a bodyguard wants to get fucked all goddamn day and night.”

Roadhog watched Junkrat do a little jig and thought that maybe all the time in the world wouldn’t make this jack-in-the-box a decent dom. He grunted, standing up to go fix his ruined dungarees. Kink wasn’t a requirement. This partnership would still be better than he’d had before even without it.

Junkrat paused in his dance, looking over his shoulder at Roadhog. “Can ya call me Boss again? I wanna hear it. I wanna get used to you sayin’ it. Maybe get ya sayin’ it all the time.”

“Whatever you say Boss.” Roadhog was more thankful than usual that he had his mask on. Hope swirled in his stomach, the arousal  _ Boss _ caused making him useless.

“Mmmm that’s good. Real good.” Junkrat cackled, throwing himself onto Roadhog’s back. “I think I’m gonna like this.”

Roadhog thought so too.


	3. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink isn't always about getting off.

Junkrat learned quickly, eagerly. He knew most things from the other side of the equation, and found it easy enough to reform his experiences of submission into something uniquely dominating. Roadhog could tell he was learning more from other’s mistakes than from their successes, knew where not to step from the ways he had been stepped on before. 

The edges of past transgression gave Roadhog the feeling that Junkrat’s first kill was steeped in sex and betrayal, that he had first tasted death when he ripped the throat out of some bastard who didn’t know the difference between a hard hand and a cruel hand. It wasn’t that every junker out there was clueless and abusive in bed. Roadhog had found that those who had survived had been born rough and had sought a way to harness that roughness long before the world fell out underneath them. Junkrat had probably run into a good number of men who knew what they were doing, but a few bastards always slipped in. At least those foolish enough to try anything rarely survived the night.

As their professional relationship fell into an easy routine, looting across the country and planning a hop across the water, the dynamic of sex was still unsteady with lingering reminders of the past. Junkrat was consumed in it, trying to sort out desire from fear from expectation. It made Roadhog remember how goddamn young Junkrat was. He clung to a vicious youth, one without innocence but full of hunger. He was aggressively eager for everything despite knowing full well the consequences and Roadhog would do anything to help Junkrat keep that dangerous, self-righteous fire alive. He wanted to teach him how to let it grow past his well honed skill of thieving until it consumed them both. He wanted to coax the flames until they licked at his mouth and singed his tastebuds.

The kid wanted to take over the world. Roadhog wanted to help him do it.

\----------

They sat in the shade of an old building, Junkrat resting against Roadhog’s stomach as he hummed to himself. It was a familiar off-key drone and Roadhog had no qualms in interrupting it.

“Kink does more than get you off.”

“Wha’?” Junkrat blinked rapidly, snapping himself out of whatever thoughts had been occupying him. “I know that. Just ‘cause I ain’t been in them clubs you talk about don’t mean I’m clueless.”

“If that’s the case, you haven’t been using that knowledge you claim to have.”

“Who says I ain’t been usin’ it?”

“You’re parroting what other doms have done. That’s not how this works.” Roadhog paused, not too long for fear of Junkrat jumping into the silence, but long enough to chart his next words carefully. “If it’s because you don’t want this, that’s perfectly okay.” Roadhog knew deep in his bones that Junkrat very much wanted it, needed it, but providing a way out was required even if it would never be used.

“Don’t tell me what I do and do not want,” Junkrat said, voice clear and dark despite the way he was still reclining against Roadhog’s belly. It was rare for Junkrat to enunciate so clearly, his accent still thick but now he had wrangled it into something deep and dangerously real. It was a good sign. A really good sign.

“Then figure out what you want to do,” Roadhog said, “ not what you think you should do.”

That had left Junkrat reeling for a few days, didn’t keep him silent but had him strangely thoughtful, his words skirting the subject in such a way that Roadhog knew he was thinking of nothing but. His words were disjointed, rambling, carrying little information, but his eyes lit up with the messy multitasking, and as the hours piled up and the gleam was slowly turning predatory.

\--------

“You figure it out?” Roadhog asked as he was pushed to his knees moments after he finished setting up camp for the night. Junkrat stood before him, strangely still despite his tremors and infinitely dangerous because of it.

“I did figure it out. And all because of you, pretty boy.”

_ Pretty boy.  _ Roadhog knew he was well and truly fucked, tasting the new flavor that dripped from Junkrat’s lips like barbs of sugar, burying deep and drawing open old, delicious wounds.

“My sweet boy,” Junkrat said, a sharp smile as Roadhog let out a shocked gasp he couldn’t contain as the words sunk into his flesh, those stinging sugar words.

“Thank you, Boss,” he said, immediately overwhelmed as a gentle hand with an edge of condescension traced the stitches of his mask. He leaned into it, hesitant, unsure of what Junkrat wanted but eager with the uncertainty.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” His palm slid firm against the curve of the cheek of his mask encouraging him to nuzzle Junkrat’s hand in earnest, a resounding yes, a mutual recognition of new terms.

“I’m going to take your mask off now. I want to see my boy’s pretty face.”

“Yes, Boss,” Roadhog bent his head forward, giving Junkrat access to the straps. He shivered as Junkrat’s fingers traced over the sensitive skin of his neck, careful not to pull his hair as he undid the mask.

“Good boy,” Junkrat said as the mask fell away. He paused, as if to consider Roadhog before him. “Look at me, Mako.”

Mako. Mako. He was Mako. The name sealed it, had him there in that space instantly in the way that Junkrat— _ no, Jamie— _ said his name. He blinked away the blurry world as his eyes adjusted, anchored to nothing but the fingers trailing over his scars as Jamie waited patiently for him to get his bearings. The gentle touch teased old, tired neurons awake, the world blissfully clicking into place.

“You’re such a pretty thing, aren’t you sweetheart,” Jamie said, taking him by the jaw and tugging him close, for a soft kiss, nothing more than a brush of lips. It tore at him with more brutality than sharp teeth and a bruising hand would have. A rumbling whimper snuck out of his throat, coloring his cheeks at how easily Jamie was pulling him apart.

“What do you want Boss?”

“I want what makes my boy feel good. Tell me the truth, Mako, not what you think I want to hear. What will make you feel good like my good boy deserves?”

Mako bit his lip with the rawness of having Jamie here, really here, rather than a reenactment of some other dom’s scene. Mako wondered at what he, himself, wanted, really wondered and felt the situation he was in take shape more sharply than it had before. This wasn’t playacting as it had been before. Now the age difference, the size difference, the tug of war between them was attempting to swallow him up in the sweetest of ways. Mako Rutledge on his knees for a twink half his age, half his size. Mako Rutledge fucking gagging for it.

Jamie got a hand in his hair and tugged to yank him out of his own thoughts..

“Stay with me boy. Right here with me. With your Boss. What will make you feel good? Tell me sweetheart.”

“I want to obey you Boss. I want to be . . .” Mako shook his head, trying to get the words out. “I want to be put in my place.” It was the truth, and he hated how much it was true, loved how the burn of humiliation bubbled up from deep in his grey matter even after so many years of being on his knees. The wonderful edge of this unique shame never left, would never leave, a familiar friend to his submission.

“Are you embarrassed of being my boy? Of wanting to be put in your place?” Jamie’s gaze was traveling all over his face, jumping from his scars to the ring in his nose to the scraggle of teeth knocked akimbo from the beating years ago. Jamie had that smile on his face, a controlled forest fire ready to choke Mako with thick smoke, dick hard from the asphyxiation and the smell of his own burning flesh.

“Is that it? Don’t think a big boy like you could be my pretty little sub? Who says you can’t?  _ You _ say you can’t? All blushing because you hate how much you want me to make you my good boy?”

“Oh, fuck.  _ Please _ .”

Jamie slapped his face hard, perfectly hard, finally, blessedly giving in to  _ Jamie’s _ own desires. “What was that boy?”

“Please, Boss.”

“Please what?”

“Please make me your good boy, Boss.”.

“Never thought you’d ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words and kudos!!! It means so much!!! Updates might not be everyday from now on but I have to write like.....actual school appropriate gay things for college....but I'm not going to leave you without actual filth, don't worry! It just might not be coming to you tomorrow.


	4. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie knows what he wants.

_ On all fours, boy. _

The command lingered in his mind as he started tearing up, face buried in his arms, whimpering like a dog. He knew that Jamie would be a ruthless dom, would take him apart, he had spent enough time training doms to know. But things could still surprise him and while the speed with which Jamie had learned was surprising,  _ this _ was truly earth shattering. Few junkers wanted to bother with it, and Mako couldn’t blame them, not with the unsanitary conditions they lived in. But Mako was a bit of a clean freak and Jamie, while not a fan of cleanliness, seemed to be enjoying one of the benefits of such a habit. Jamie had never told him about this which suggested he had thought quite a lot on what his own desires were since their last conversation. And he obviously desired to fuck Mako open with his tongue, to taste him, to bury his face in Mako’s ass and moan with it, desired to big his fingers into skin and practically suffocate himself with the need to eat Mako out.

Jamie’s moans rumbled up through him, another layer of brutal pleasure that accentuated how pitifully hard he was. It wasn’t just the feel of Jamie’s mouth on him, but the inherent taboo, the enthusiasm Jamie had for it, and the humiliation that pooled at the base of his spine from the way he was spreading his legs for Jamie. He was face down and ass up and making the most disgusting sounds. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill with every sob of need that spilled out of him. He was on the edge in quick order, desperately needy but with no end in sight, shameful in the way that he was so close so fast and with so little.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself boy,” Jamie said as he leaned back from Mako’s hole, voice rough and dark. Mako let out an embarrassing noise in his effort to not come at the sound of it. “Poor thing.” Jamie patted his ass and laughed breathlessly. “Such a desperate boy.”

“Please, Boss.”

“Think you could come with just a command? Before I even get to the good stuff?”

Mako shuddered, hating how real a possibility that was. Jamie struck his ass hard, twice, three times, had Mako moaning into his forearms, legs widening without conscious thought, humiliation and submission curling together until his lip was bleeding from biting down in a useless play for restraint.

“Answer, pretty boy,” Jamie spit.

“Fuck, yes, I could Boss. I could come if you told me to.”

“Pitiful,” said, the disgust in his voice curled around Mako and tugged him deeper. His cock was starting to leak onto the ground, twitching with each breath, the struggle not to come turning back on itself to bring him closer and closer. Tears spilled down his cheeks and over old scars and mingled with the blood gathering on his lips. Jamie ran a hand over his ass, keeping Mako grounded as the world settled into a pleasant blur.

“You’re making a mess of yourself sweetheart. You’re just that desperate for your Boss aren’t you, boy? You should know better than to go around begging for some twink’s cock.” Jamie let a few more strikes fly, settling down into a decent pace, painting Mako’s ass with a hazy painful pleasure that was making it impossible to obey the command not to come.

“What’s my sweetheart got to say now?” Jamie asked with a cruel laugh, drawing his nails down the burning skin of Mako’s ass..

“You’re not just some twink,” Mako slurred, “You’re my Boss. I’m only begging for you, Boss.”

“Good boy,” Jamie shifted smooth against Mako’s back and curled a hand around his cock. Mako let out a pained noise, precome slipping out of him with embarrassing ease. “Now come.”

Mako cried out against his arms as Jamie tightened his fist, giving him something to thrust into as he came hard. He shook apart, come painting the ground.

“Good boy, such a good boy for me. Look at that, look how pretty you come for me. Such a disgusting, messy boy for me.” Jamie kept stroking him through the aftershocks and even beyond, sharp oversensitivity deepening the space Mako hung in. His whimpers were flowing freely, mouth open against his skin, drool coating his arm.

“Don’t fall asleep on me boy,” Jamie said, bringing his hand down hard on Mako’s ass again.

“I won’t Boss.”

“Good because I’m not done with you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your amazing comments!!!! They keep me writing! And there will be more sex I promise :P


	5. Down

Down. Held down by an order.

Lying on his sleep mat, staring up at the dark sky through blurry eyes, his legs shamelessly spread open, his wrists tied above his head for the illusion of restraint. Mako had never been a fan of bondage, considered it a pointless waste of time and resources. He would break from them easily, preferring the restraint of a voice than the restraint of rope. But Jamie wanted it and that was all Mako needed.

He found that there was something delicately erotic in the waiting, in the most basic requisition of his own pleasure for Jamie’s. It was so often, especially lately, to find himself distracted by the more tangible aspects of submission, the pain and pleasure of the flesh rather than truer submissive domain of the mind. This required no suffering, no work, no struggle. But the uselessness, the nothingness of it was utterly intoxicating. Jamie wrapped useless rope around his wrists, careful and precise. Slow. Slower, gentle and timeless.

He was rewarded with the burn of rope, the creak of knots as he tested the hold at Jamie’s request. Jamie’s order. Sweet fingers slid over the rope, testing and drawing out the wait as Jamie cooed to Mako. He pet his wrists, kissed the tender skin, bit teasingly at the meat of his palms. Metal rested against his bare cheek as Jamie ran his flesh hand through his grey hair.  _ Pretty boy, so pretty. _

Jamie kissed his way down Mako’s chest, bites and hickeys, bruising with his metal fingers, hovering around his nipples with a soft thumb. On the edge, circling, teasing, unending and then Jamie was sucking hard on his left nipple, pulling lightly on the piercing on the other, a sudden onslaught of stinging sweet pleasure. Mako distantly heard his own disjointed moans, too far gone to care if some lost soul across the wastes heard him getting off from just his nipples being played with. Teeth bit down on the nub and he grunted, low and rumbling, and he felt more than heard Jamie moan against his nipple. Jamie coaxed Mako into painful oversensitivity, nipples red and hard and slick with spit.

Jamie laughed cruel and bright, hand curling around Mako’s cock, feeling how he was already getting hard. “Such a needy boy.” Jamie flashed him a smug grin, moving over Mako’s stomach with sharp bites and sharp nails, settling between his spread legs.

“Just relax sweetheart, gotta get you ready for my cock. You’re so desperate for my cock, aren’t you boy?”

“Yes, Boss, please Boss. I need your cock.” The words came too easy, too loud. Jamie kept giggling.

“Mmmmm patience, pretty thing.”

Slick gloved fingers trailed over his hole, sparking already sensitized flesh, ass still faintly burning from his spanking, hole still eager for Jamie’s tongue. He bit down on his lip, reopening the split lip from earlier, a faint taste of blood coating his tongue as Jamie teased with talented fingers, precise and devious. A slim forefinger slipped inside of him, finding Mako’s prostate easily, rubbing, teasing, always teasing. A careful glide, an exploration. Taking too long, never long enough, Mako wanted to ride Jamie’s gorgeous fingers for the rest of his life.

An unnaturally strong hand pressed his hip down, metal digging into skin, bruising. Mako had been thrusting onto Jamie’s fingers, had been uselessly moving unaware, undone, begging for more. “Stay still boy,” Jamie spit and Mako settled down, kept himself still despite the ease with which he could have overpowered Jamie. The juxtaposition of size and strength had him moaning, begging even more with how much he was willing to just lie there and take whatever Jamie wanted to give. Jamie laughed, a condescending sound that had Mako growling out pitiful words.

“Please Boss, I’m ready. I’ve been ready. Fuck me, I need you to fuck me.”

He was rewarded with nothing but a hard slap on his inner thigh, carefully aimed so the prosthetic palm would land without cutting into skin. It was the first of many as Jamie set up a distracting pace, the texture different than his spanking earlier, a new place, a new instrument, the same howling from his throat. His cock was leaking from the sweet pain blooming on his thighs. And as quick as it started it stopped.

“So riled up,” Jamie removed his fingers, “you forget yourself, sweetheart.” Jamie started to crawl up Mako’s body. “Such a naughty boy, talking like you call the shots.”

“I’m sorry B—” A sharp tug on a piercing shut him up.

“Talking is not what I want,” Jamie said, each word hard and enunciated. Mako whimpered, hands flexing uselessly. “You’ll _ show  _ me how sorry you are, boy.” Jamie shifted to straddle his face, stripping the latex glove off with a dangerous motion. He let his hand fall to his cock, stroking it lazily, preening, making a show of it. He ran the head against Mako’s bottom lip, breath hitching when Mako took the initiative and tongued at the slit.

Jamie’s voice might have gone rough with distraction but he looked lit up from the inside, in control and dangerously so. He was where he was meant to be. Belonged. Looking down on Mako, smug, ravenous, taking what he wanted, being given what he wanted. The giving was the thing wasn’t it? The giving was new, was unheard of. But here, like this, the giving was unquestioned, was holy.

Jamie bent forward so that his prosthetic hand rested on the rope coiled tight between Mako’s wrists. His face hung close to Mako’s, and a kiss, the first, was shared. Sharp and dirty, with jagged teeth and too much spit. Of all they had done, this was what had Mako shaking with humiliation, face red, eyes welling up as Jamie grinned against his mouth, giggles slipping out between his lips, the brush of his cock against Mako’s skin, smearing precome. He bit at his bottom lip, pressed their lips together sweetly and gentle for another long moment before moving over Mako’s face with a flat tongue, wetting every scar he could reach with sloppy kisses. It wasn’t a blessing, or healing, it was filthy and salt-sharp, an acceptance and recognition. Permission.

Jamie shifted, wasted no more time and guided his cock into Mako’s mouth. Mako let his eyes slide shut, let the tears fall, felt his mouth filled, felt spit dry on his face, felt Jamie’s thighs shake, felt Jamie’s hand in his hair, praise spilling out, coaxing more tears to fall and his cock to harden.

“Suck cock so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy when you’re in your place, aren’t you? Should keep your mouth full of cock all the time, you’d love it wouldn’t you? It’d remind you of who you belong to, who calls the shots, who you obey.” Jamie started to thrust, tugging on Mako’s hair, rough grunts pressing out of his chest.

“Oh listen to you, moaning around my cock. Fucking nasty boy. Such a dirty boy,” Jamie spit, thrusting deep and holding there. Mako swallowed as best he could around Jamie’s cock, eyes rolling back and cock twitching with the feel of it. Jamie withdrew, leaving his mouth empty, and he whined, face flushing with shame as he chased after his cock mindlessly. And with that he was gone and he was bliss.

“Change your mind? Want my cock in your mouth rather than your sweet little hole?”

“Whatever you want Boss,” Mako said, the words barely voiced but leaving his throat with ease. It was a nothingness and everything at the same time. Whatever Jamie wanted. He didn’t care what else.

Jamie gasped softly, a laugh and surge of energy. “That’s what I like to hear, my sweetheart being such a good submissive boy for me.” Jamie pet his face with a soft hand. “Ask for it.”

“Please fuck me Boss. I need you Boss, anything. Anything.”

“Anything?” Jamie laughed, a sharp sound that punctuated Jamie’s hard grip on Mako’s hips, his cock sliding against Mako’s hole. He had moved, hadn’t he? Didn’t matter, he was there, so close. “You’d do anything for my cock boy? Begging to be fucked by me, your tiny little twink Boss? Just love to be ordered around by some fucker half your size, love to be ruined be me?”

“Yes Boss,” Mako answered and it was truth more than he meant to say.

“Sweet boy, gets what he asks for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the longest sex scene of all time..........


End file.
